Laurel’s cheeks colored.
“This is so embarrassing,” Genevieve muttered.
“I told you to stay out of the kitchen.” Farnsworth pinned his gaze to Laurel. “Have I not made myself clear on that?”
“You did,” Laurel whispered, staring down at her plate.
“What did you make?”
“The pastry and the dessert.”
“The pastry?” Her father probed the last remaining bite on his plate with a fork as though it was suddenly now worthy of the waste bin.
“I wasn’t trying to be obstinate. I just wanted to help. I’ve been working on a new tart recipe and?—”
“What do you suppose Mr. Amos thinks, seeing my daughter behaving like one of the housemaids?”
“I think she’s skilled and generous,” Alexei ground out. “And I thought the pastry was a delicious complement to the lobster sauce.”
Across the table, Genevieve huffed. “And I say it makes her little better than a scullery maid.”
“It’s highly inappropriate, to be sure.” Genevieve’s husband agreed.
Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest. “Just think, what if word of this spreads?”
“It won’t spread,” Farnsworth snapped. “Because no one here is going to speak of this.” He ran his eyes around the table,then sat back and tossed his napkin onto his plate, the last two bites of the lobster pastry untouched.
“Are you going to have the dessert served?” Genevieve slanted a glance at Laurel. “After she disobeyed you?”
“We have to bring something out.” Beatrice’s eyes grew round. “It would make us little better than paupers to end a meal without dessert.”
“I agree, but not what Laurel made.” Mrs. Farnsworth pressed a hand to her chest. “Surely there’s something else in the kitchen that will suffice.”
Farnsworth snapped his fingers, and one of the servants appeared by his side. “Have the chef send something other than Laurel’s tart out for dessert. See what he has on hand.”
“Yes, sir.” The servant gave a nod, then headed through the doorway.
Beside Alexei, Laurel’s head bent to the point that she could see nothing beside her lap, and she didn’t seem to have any intention of looking up any time soon.
The servant returned a moment later and moved straight to the host. They exchanged a few words, and then Farnsworth gave a subtle nod. Two more servants stepped forward and began clearing plates. No one spoke. Even Beatrice and Genevieve had reverted to taking polite sips of wine.
Beside him, Sacha sat with his arms crossed, his face like stone. Alexei couldn’t blame him. He probably looked as serious.
“Well,” Banning said, folding his napkin and glancing down the table, “I for one wouldn’t mind seeing your chef’s dessert menu make its way into the hotel kitchens. I hear the Fairmont is still hiring.”
“Hotels are a passing fad,” Everett replied, swirling the wine in his glass. “No one wants to live like a transient forever. You want stability? Own the buildings people rent.”
“Not this again,” Beatrice muttered with a sigh. “It’s the same argument every meal.”
Farnsworth gave a faint smile. “That’s what happens when one son-in-law owns buildings and the other owns bonds.”
Genevieve leaned in toward her husband. “I do hope you’re not still invested in that cannery down by the harbor. The newspapers say it smells dreadful.”
“It smells like money,” Everett said smoothly. “But I appreciate your delicate nose, darling.”
The doorto the dining room opened, and two servers returned bearing dessert trays that held chocolate pudding.
A crystal dish was set before Alexei, and he picked up his spoon and took a bite. Rich cocoa flavor spread across his tongue. It tasted excellent as far as chocolate pudding went, but he’d bet every last cent in his bank account that Laurel’s dessert would have been better.
